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room fever - rants and rambles
alessiana
alessiana
room fever
my room, the same place that fed last week's illness with it's compost of tissues and assorted dirty clothes has swallowed my cell phone and my work badge.

i hate the prospect of going to the guard, yet again, with ileftmybadgeathome as an excuse. like that's gonna work for much longer.

not.

the cell phone is the bigger bitch, since for some inexplicable reason the land line is down. this means i have to get the phone company in here to figure it out, which means i have figure out what to do with the room. just tracing the line back to wherever the fuck it goes in the wall, seems an impenetrable task that will require a colonoscope to wind around the assorted detritus the room refused to digest...

unlike my phone, unlike my badge which it wolfed down with enthusiasm.

if i could give my room a laxative, i wonder what it would shit out. obviously none of the soda cans, bottles, empty video cases, books, magazines, aforementioned dirty clothes, clean clothes, and all the other material it refuses to consume that occupies every available surface except what lies beneath my feet

under my desk
at my computer

where i spend far too much time exploring everythingeverythingeverything that's never enough, and from where i emit oohs, aaahs, and giggles that cause daughter to hesitate outside the door, fearing mom will drag her in again with justreadthiswillonlytakeasecond, justlistenthiswillonlytakeasecond, or lookisnthesuchaloveabledork.

my room might shit out the vial that contains baby teeth collected from both my children; a vial of memories held by expelled body parts only a sicko or a voracious room would cherish; a vial i spent a month searching for and never found. baby teeth crack with decay after several years in a vial. did you know that? i didn't, until i added to my collection one final time and looked within. if i don't find it within the next 10 years or so, the vial will contain nothing but dust. but i don't think a laxative is going to work that quickly, or even at all.

i think this room, even stripped bare, will hide things. slid between the base board and the wall, secretively, like the intestine might hide matter in it's appendix, my room will hide the most important artifacts of my life.

the things it willfully consumed when i wasn't paying enough attention, distracted. go to a convention? lose your badge. get sick? lose your phone. throw your husband out of your life? lose baby teeth. go to a pj concert? lose tickets to the next show.

i've lost stuff i don't even want to think about and i don't know the solution. my brain, which is a greater glutton then this room, doesnt have enough space to remember where things were laid. i relied on my room for this.

foolish me. i was betrayed, and now i have to wave a colonoscope as a threat

at a room

my life is so absurd
.

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